


A Broken Soldier

by maddestofthemad



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Space Dad Shiro (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7557967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddestofthemad/pseuds/maddestofthemad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the vents of "Crystal Venom," Shiro's PTSD catches up with him and he fights to find a reason to continue leading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Broken Soldier

Footsteps echoed through the empty corridor as Shiro made his way back from the bridge.  Even the sound of his own passage was agony on his head, which had been pounding since they had found him at Sendak’s pod.  The whole day felt like a blur and all Shiro wanted was to sleep.  It seemed to be a permanently unfulfilled desire these days.  As he continued toward his quarters, a whiff of something unpleasant reached his nose.  His head protested painfully.  With a groan, he turned the corner and entered the kitchen – stopping dead when he saw the mess. 

For a moment, the image wavered.

_Red replaced green, the walls were made of stone, hard packed dirt beneath his feet._

Shiro gasped, his hand going to his head as he stumbled back against the wall.  Green food-goo stuck to his hand.

“Augh, _Hunk_ ,” he grimaced, trying to catch his breath.  Vaguely he recalled the yellow lion pilot saying something about being attacked by food.  “But why did you _leave_ it?” Shiro gritted his teeth.  He looked around, half expecting that flash of memory to pounce, but it didn’t.  Kicking a tray out of his way, Shiro began to retrieve the supplies to clean up the mess.

He worked for a while, wiping down the cupboards, untangling the hoses, and scrubbing at the counters.  At the moment there was one particularly stubborn spot that wouldn’t come clean.  Shiro growled, rubbing hard, but the goo wouldn’t budge.  He reached for the cloth with his right hand, and stopped.  His gaze locked on the fingers of the metal that formed the limb.

_“You’ve been broken and reformed – just look at your hand!”_

_“That’s not –”_

“- me!” Shiro’s fist slammed into the table, denting the surface. 

_“It’s the strongest part of you.”_

“No,” he laid his head against the counter, his head pulsing in time with his racing heart.  “No.”  His chest felt like it was in a vice, his eyes burned as tears threatened to spill.

_“Do you really think a monster like you could be a Voltron Paladin?”_

Shiro slid to the floor, his back against the cupboards, shaking, cradling his robotic arm.  The goo coated its surface thinly, leaving a sheen behind that flashed under the stabbing lights.

 _Red replaced green_.

Shiro close his eyes against the sight, but he couldn’t forget.  The smooth snick every time that hand passed through something haunted him; the gentle tug of resistance followed by the slick release followed him to his few dreams.  Nightmares.  Something he could never describe to another soul.  He couldn’t explain the way it worked – it was alien – but he had to use the hand he was dealt.  Literally.

_“The others don’t know what you know, they haven’t seen what you’ve seen.  Face it, you’ll never beat Zarkon; he’s already defeated you!”_

A laugh that sounded like grinding gears escaped him.  How often had he thought those very words?  How many times had he woken in a cold sweat, ready to run to the furthest corner of the universe?  How many times had he wanted to give up?  But the others didn’t know.  Couldn’t know.  He couldn’t bear to see Hunk’s good nature destroyed through endless battle and grim reality.  If Pidge were locked up, it would be like dimming the light of the sun.  Lance’s jokes would become a mask, hiding pain that was eating him alive.  Keith…Keith would become Shiro.

“Which is why I’m here,” he spoke softly, his eyes still closed.  He remembered the moment that sun had loomed before them, Allura’s father about to send them to their deaths.  For a moment, when he saw that star he had thought it was the end, and he had welcomed it with relief.  But the others fought on.  The others kept moving.  He couldn’t let them go alone.

Not even when Sendak, and the hologram, and his own mind, were all screaming at him to lay down and die. 

He marveled at Allura.  Here he was, curled up in the refuse of the day, shaking and a mess, while she had just been called on to erase what was left of her family, save them all from certain death, and continue to lead.  She didn’t even have a home to go to, when this was all over.  But still she fought.

Shiro looked down at his hands – one human, one machine.  He was split between so many worlds with no anchor.  Even the clothes on his back weren’t his.  Borrowed.  Even his hair screamed that he was different.  Scarred.  His time in Galra prison was hard to recall, but Earth…he understood Lance feeling homesick.

Where did they all find the strength?  They were surrounded by alien tech and aliens, so far from Earth they might never see it again, with Zarkon throwing things at them every chance he got and no chance to breathe.  No chance to brace.  Shiro held his head in his hands, losing the fight to the tears.

_“What makes you think you can possibly defeat him?”_

“I don’t know,” he whispered. 

_“What makes you think you can possibly defeat him?”_

“I don’t know!” he shouted into the silence.

The cool flavor of Hunk’s homemade ice cream flitted through his mind.  Lance’s laughter as he poked fun, Keith’s outraged shout at the behavior.  The clicking of Pidge’s keys in the vast quiet of the night.  Coran’s dedication to his job.  Allura’s steadfast determination to hold a hand out in friendship to the universe.  The smiles.  The love.  The hope.

Shiro raised his head slowly, for once not feeling the jolt of dissociation as the white lock of hair fell into his eyes.

“I can’t defeat him,” he said, “But _they_ can.”  With someone to protect them.  _They_ could do it. 

Shaking his head, Shiro slowly got to his feet, picking up the rag to continue cleaning. 

_“You’re a broken soldier, you can’t hold out forever.”_

His words to Sendak.  His words to himself. 

“But I can hold out long enough.”  

 

**Author's Note:**

> I did a piece of art for this fic that can be found here on my blog: http://themaddestofthemad.tumblr.com/post/148435350809/do-you-really-think-a-monster-like-you-could-be-a


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